Never mine at first

Teenage purse wouldn’t stretch

to antique pine,

to posts

Your predecessor,

structureless,

lay low;  

squat stained

stripey lumpen

dough

 

First embrace in ‘88

Behind you lived a history

of needledrop and resin

I wondered if you’d ever

fruited cones

Lovers lain,

hes and shes

Dreams conceived,

in somniacal vision clips;

some stayed

embryonic,

others realised

 

In later days

a daughter moved

in me, still blind,

alive within your

antique arms;

a living breathing

wooden womb,

scarified by

tantrum kicks

and clumsy midnight

cigarettes

Twilight dappled

waiting eyes

as we two lay

umbrellaed

in our umbilical

bed